I’m trembling in fear. I should probably pay homage.
Pharyngula
Evolution, development, and random biological ejaculations from a godless liberal
I’m trembling in fear. I should probably pay homage.
Yeah, those annoyingly shrill fundamentalist militant agnostics annoy me too.
In a great victory for history, a very rare 19th century MP3 has been recovered which documents a moment in Charles Darwin’s domestic life. It seems that there was a bit of unreported conflict between them…
This is true, but cruel:
It made me think…there would be a lot more vegans in the world if they could each declare one special exemption. I think “I’m a vegan, except when it comes to bacon” would be a very common phrase, just like “I’m a skeptic, except when it comes to religion.”
Mmmm, bacon.
Westboro Baptist Church decided that they were going to picket Comic-Con, and Justin Kirchart sent me pictures. He also sent me a photo of the WBC picket — it’s a sad and pathetic 4 people standing and holding the usual “YOU HATE GOD” and “GOD HATES FAGS” signs, and it wasn’t very interesting, so I didn’t bother to upload it.
Here, though, are the forces of Comic-con madness across the street. They’re much more entertaining. Click to zoom in!
Justin liked “Jesus was nailed to a cross. Thor has a hammer.” I kind of liked “ODIN IS GOD. Read Mighty Thor #5”. Thor is always good for a laugh in these sorts of things.
Now, at last, with this handy reference and a pair of binoculars, you too will be able to identify biologists.
Notice the unusual markings. These varieties of biologists are clearly wearing no pants, one of the characteristics of the bench biologist, a delicate breed that favors air conditioned environments and wilts if not well-watered with money. The hardier subspecies of field biologists usually do wear pants, although it may be difficult to tell if they are also wearing hip waders.
I wish Samuel Clemens were still alive, so I could piss him off and he’d write something like this back to me. It would be such an honor.
Nov. 20. 1905
J. H. Todd
1212 Webster St.
San Francisco, Cal.Dear Sir,
Your letter is an insoluble puzzle to me. The handwriting is good and exhibits considerable character, and there are even traces of intelligence in what you say, yet the letter and the accompanying advertisements profess to be the work of the same hand. The person who wrote the advertisements is without doubt the most ignorant person now alive on the planet; also without doubt he is an idiot, an idiot of the 33rd degree, and scion of an ancestral procession of idiots stretching back to the Missing Link. It puzzles me to make out how the same hand could have constructed your letter and your advertisements. Puzzles fret me, puzzles annoy me, puzzles exasperate me; and always, for a moment, they arouse in me an unkind state of mind toward the person who has puzzled me. A few moments from now my resentment will have faded and passed and I shall probably even be praying for you; but while there is yet time I hasten to wish that you may take a dose of your own poison by mistake, and enter swiftly into the damnation which you and all other patent medicine assassins have so remorselessly earned and do so richly deserve.
Adieu, adieu, adieu!
Mark Twain
Mark Twain would have been an awesome blogger.
He may have poured that flask down the drain!
Also, the fun part is doing the succussations between dilutions.
…it’s books about how our pets go to heaven.
Author Ptolemy Tompkins tracks the history of the relationship between humans and animals in the new book, “The Divine Life of Animals.” Prompted to write by the death of his pet rabbit, Angus, Tompkins looks to the ancient past for the best models of animal-human interaction.
Och, Angus, ye cain’t be daid!
What of Mr McGregor? Burnin’ in hell where no wee bunny goes, no doubt.
